Zenith, Darkness, Reverie
by Fiare
Summary: "This is not justice. This is a massacre." In America, a human locates a peculiar notebook, and a darkness beyond all escapes confinement. For all of those who enter this luminous universe, halfway between ours and the next, absolution is unattainable. The loss of sanity is imminent in a world poised for catastrophe. (Contains psychological horror.)
1. Zenith

**Everything, with the exception of the Death Note, is mine. This story will be updated in real time, and it is written in a stream-of-consciousness manner. All events, excluding ones that are a result of Death Notes and _shinigami_, do occur.  
**

* * *

**Part One: Ambivalence/Realization  
**

* * *

**Soundtrack: Destroy, She Said- Circ (Nightcore Version- ReaperLovers)  
**

* * *

A tale does not require a location, but it certainly clarifies events. I shall establish that: My room, 2:26 in the afternoon, an overcast day in August. I possess a ruby-coloured beanbag (perhaps "garnet" is accurate, however), and, upon that, I was languishing, if writing feverishly could be considered a tranquil activity. The nightcore song "Devil In Disguise" had recently concluded. Diverting my attention from the fanfiction I was currently drafting, I ceased momentarily to peruse my musical options, and selected the nightcore piece "Destroy, She Said". Unfortunately, it incorporated romantic undercurrents, which I was not appreciative of. Despite the pervasive influences of promiscuity, avarice, and intoxication in popular culture, I refused to conform to and support those.

My surroundings are likely a source of minor curiosity: Navy viola case, glittering stainless-steel multifunction knife, olive shirt, aureate music stand. Vibrant aquamarine walls, a direct contrast to my personality. The current one, of course. Alabaster bookshelf, populated by multiple genres: Cryptology textbook, _Physics of the Future_, books intricately detailing adolescent ennui, two thesauruses, _Seven Famous Novels by H.G. Wells_, an impressive portion of the _Write Great Fiction _series. Walls occupied by posters of Ancient Rome, a ridiculous theory involving history, reality, and the intangibility of dreams. A mirror populated by Post-its. Notes to retailor my greatcoat written next to my bed, directly onto the wall. Others containing conversations with myself- "What can the future possibly contain?"- and the response- "Light."

Light is an obsession of mine- an inexorable fixation, a concept beyond reality that defines it. _Light_, by M. John Harrison, an excellent novel. It has been described as fractal. Light, the mass murderer of a tale set neither in this universe or the next, a character that entertains my psychologically shattering moments, a construction of darkness with a rather ironic title. Light Yagami, a character in Death Note- a recent discovery. The Impossibility of Light, Abstractions of Light, The Finality of Light, The Continuation of Light- bizarre, luminous.

After completing another paragraph of my fanfiction, my mother arrives at my door. A word about her- an overbearing, suburban woman who believes she is entitled to every object and luxury. She inquires about the state of my summer mathematics assessments. I admit to writing, and she is displeased. I am not particularly elated at being subject to her acrimonious temperament, and I attempt to placate her by informing her that _of course I'll complete it, Mum. _ Fortunately, she exits my room, presumably to venture forth to purge the refrigerator of expired food articles. I accompany her downstairs with the somewhat astonished realization that I have failed to partake in breakfast or lunch. I consume a grapefruit. Breakfast at 3:25 pm. Delightful. Noting my peculiar excitement pertaining to my fanfiction, we converse about it- mere pleasantries to prevent familial altercations. I compare myself to Haruhi Suzumiya, mention convoluted plotlines, and reference Supernatural. I elaborate on my loathing of Twilight, finishing on a subtle, paranoia-inducing foreshadowing of god complexes. My mother notes that I should only kill fictional characters in my fanfiction, and I am opposed to this. _It's set in reality_, I insist. She attempts to restrain my morbid tendencies, and I vehemently protest. Without death and humor, the world would be unbearably dull.

At 3:33, an appealing time due to its repetition of threes, I decide that, despite the rain, I shall encounter the external world anew. I am interrupted by my sister's acquaintances entering my room to inform me of the results of their juvenile activities. I appear interested, again maintaining uncomfortable social interactions for the benefit of others. I prefer to be solitary. Once they exit, I am unmotivated, and listen to a nightcore version of "Russian Roulette", which has a surfeit of sexual metaphors. After its completion, exiting my residence becomes a necessity, an insistence.

Under a sky frozen in angelic grey tumult, I ride my bicycle. Colonial-style houses drift past, evaporating into emerald oaks and manicured lawns. Oil punctuating the road, obsidian blood. Lagerstroemia blossoms fallen on asphalt. Anything not classified as perfectly ordinary arouses my suspicion, and intrigues me. An electric lime poster for the neighborhood picnic? Instantaneous attention. Automobiles equipped with glaring lights maneuver past. Mere tenths of a mile coalesce themselves into considerable sums. Water pools on the sidewalk, and if anything here were to possess even the vestiges of vitality, of vivacity, the leaves upon these puddles would be jewels- brilliant scarlet and auric embodiments of light. Again, my cogitation devolves into fury. Nonspecific fury and calculated revenge. A monotonous existence, a series of attendances at locations, a stagnation of purpose. As futile as riding this bicycle in innumerable circles of the neighborhood. Robert Frobisher was correct- life is cyclic. Incomprehensibly, he derived comfort from that. But this is a universe that should be unpredictable. Apart from propelling myself into cerulean eternities from a cliff, my life has not been one of decisions, of danger, of anything remotely _interesting. _The road blurs through raindrops.

I swerve recklessly onto the sidewalk to avoid an oncoming vehicle. As I continue past brick and mailboxes, an object is presented in my path. A rather irregular occurrence has appeared. How fascinating. With a resounding screech, the bicycle's movement ceases. I dismount. Immediately, I analyze the item. It is a notebook, rather unremarkable, stygian in color. Fractions of a second following this, inevitable and partially ludicrous conclusions are formulated and debated mentally. The whimsical section of my personality is certain that it is a Death Note. Logically, I rebut with several contradictions. The moment my fingers connect with the notebook, approximately half of my mind is adamant that it is a Death Note, forty-eight percent has uttered the atrociously vernacular phrase "Cool, a free notebook!", and the remainder is ensuring that this is not my GLaDOS poetry notebook, which is similarly colored. The Death Note supporters imagine a practically imperceptible shiver as my skin makes contact with the cover. The remainder dismisses this. To assure myself-to verify that this notebook is not a fictional, paranormal object of mass destruction- I examine it. There is a distinct lack of white writing on the cover. I open it. The pages, as I suspected, are vaguely damp, but not entirely saturated. It is perfectly viable as an academic notebook. Considering my bicycling completed for the day, I return the bicycle to the garage, rain skittering from the tires. The secluded, tenebrous atmosphere of my room beckons, and an undeniable fascination with my recent acquisition, has, in a manner disconcertingly identical to insanity, taken root.

To assert that it is not a Death Note, to subdue the portions of myself that are convinced that it is, I should verify this. Who would I murder? An appalling question to the majority of the population, but vaguely entertaining for me. Obviously, it should not provoke any major conflicts, especially of the political or international relations varieties. It should not reveal my political alignments. It should not be a criminal- that is a blatant signal that I am in possession of a Death Note. An imbecile, however, would be preferable.

In physical education, one day, approximately a year ago, six acquaintances and I concluded that this world was suffering. _There is a superfluous amount of idiots, _I had stated. Through the next months, we developed a ludicrously ambitious plan to eradicate stupidity from this world. I could envision the future- one of space travel, of manageable populations, of limited pollution, of terraformed planets and distant galaxies. The ardent, brilliant ones who had realized the destination for the human race- scattered among the stars- and the ones who could aid- they would be spared. We would design a toxin that could distinguish between intelligence and those fit only for menial labor. Chris- a remorseless psychopath, a technological genius behind glasses and unruly chocolate-colored hair- suggested the Death Note. At this point, my knowledge of the Death Note was due entirely to infrequent references in online communities. I reminded him that it was fictional. When he mentioned the conditions necessary, it was a tantalizing prospect- but the name and face of every person necessary to eliminate? Impossible. Five months in the future, I watched the entirety of the Death Note anime, and observed that this was a superior weapon, even with the parameters considered. _Alas, fictional. _

I continued to define my criteria- it could not be an obscure person, or a relative, or someone within decent proximity to me. A person that the majority of the populace abhorred- to disguise myself among the masses. Someone whose death would not provoke wars. Someone whose death I would be informed of within days.

It was immature… But quite an alluring prospect… Justin Drew Bieber. A heart attack, however, would be suspicious. According to Wikipedia, he was nineteen. An illogical facet of my personality declared that _the world should know it's Kira._ A heart attack would be a declaration of that. I ignored it. This was a mere notebook. Justin Drew Bieber would not collapse in agony if I inscribed his name in these pages. If located by another party, it would appear as if I had suppressed my adoration of him. That would be the sole consequence. But, if this unassuming notebook was what fervent orisons to the heavens resulted in- that was splendid. I would decide Bieber's ultimate fate tomorrow, if the slim notebook were even a Death Note. Now, I would contemplate the ensuing complications of the statistically improbable possibility of the notebook being a weapon, browse Reddit, actually complete the mathematics assessment…

It was a strenuous task, however, to ignore the portion of my mind that was certain that _tomorrow, I will be Kira. _


	2. Darkness

**Soundtrack: Extended Serenity Theme- David Newman (Remix- Serenity Score)**

* * *

Three days have transpired since my acquisition of the notebook. I have been hesitant, however. My aspirations of Bieber's murder have not been lessened in this time, but other events, such as high school orientation and thorough examination of my objectives to ensure that my identity remain questionable, have occupied my time. Succinctly, I have been procrastinating. I am not reluctant- merely engaged in other activities. Of course, I am uncertain that the notebook is even an artifact from a destroyed realm- my insanity could be manifesting through this, despite numerous attempts to suppress it or direct it into manipulative abilities.

Nothing, though, will provide me with more delight than to be informed of Bieber's tragic demise due to food poisoning, the doctors' valiant attempts to extract the elusive substance from his body, mutilating him in the process. _There's a special place in Hell reserved for me, along with the people who talk in the theater. _Of course, fantasizing about an agonizing death is not similar, in any manner, to committing an act perceived as atrocious through thoroughly eldritch means. Perhaps previous statements regarding a lack of apprehension were outright fabrications. My predilection towards prevarication extends to myself. I can convince myself of flagrant mistruths if deemed necessary.

The arguments continued- Is murder justifiable? In France, certainly, criminal acts inflamed by passion can be excused. An emotional facet of my personality asserted that impersonal assassination was not a spontaneous moment of intensity. Logically, this was correct. But for the sake of exterminating a reprehensible, despicable abomination of humanity- the incident at the Anne Frank House was particularly memorable- could I resist? I could savor the satisfaction of obliterating a single imbecile- _but, Kali, at which point would you determine cessation of your actions to be necessary? _I was extremely capable of demonstrating self-restraint. The Death Note, as depicted in the anime, was addictive. I was quite resistant, but when it was a competition between my sheer, indefatigable, but undeniably _human _willpower as opposed to an inexplicable force encapsulated within a notebook… The results were unpredictable.

As the atramentous night pooled above me, _full dark, no stars, _at least, there were none visible with the abundant pollution, my ruminations devolved into incoherent sentences, or, rather, abstract fragments of stochastic notions.

-_but if I kill-_

Could I?

**Hopeless and left for dead… **

_I can control your lies…_

i dont think thats the line

_Kali- _

_Shut up. _

Versions of myself, imperfect, unedited, representations of a multitudinous personality, unbound by sleep deprivation and the periphery of unconsciousness. They existed without express approval, at the precipice between dreams and awakening.

_Hey, Kali, it's me. _

_Dude, I'm trying to sleep. Text me later. _

**You ****_do _****realize that you can't text, don't you? That this is the product of your overfraught mind?**

**_Yeah, I know. Just lemme go to sleep, 'kay?_**

**CHEESE.**

_WTF, man? It's three in the morning, Raj, why won't you turn your damn alarm off? _

Are these manifestations of alternative personalities? 

_Nope, I think this is just sleep deprivation. _

why not hahahaXD

_Am I speaking internet in my mind? _

**_What's next, Zalgo? _**

Y̸̠̯̜̯̳̼͚͉̬̱̘̠̬̳̳͈̜̙ͪ̋ͬ͂̄ͭ͝ë̸̛͔̹̣̱̫̖͍̫͖̥͉͕̮͔́̑ͯ͂̀͛ͨͩ̒̃͂͊ͩ̚͠ͅs̸̯̱͍̗̗͓͇̺̺̭͉̱͈̟̖͈̭̣̾̔̍̀̀ͩͤ̃ͨ͊̈́̌̋ͨͤ͌̔ͫ͝.̸̡̛̬̞͎̯͖̲͚͓̥̌͒͂̾ͅͅ ̓͑͌ͣ̾ͣ̒ͬ̓ͯ͗ͯ͟͏͝͏̜͓̹̹̰̯̫̤̝̫

**_Perhaps Zalgo is a metaphor your subconscious has devised to remind you that if you kill someone, you ARE a monster. There is a creature deprived of light within you, and it will consume you. _**

**Light is not a benevolent force, and an alignment with darkness does not preclude inherent goodness. **

**Goodness isn't sesquipedalian enough…**

_Can we continue this later? I just want to sleep. Maintain my health. We can talk tomorrow. _

wait, what? since when did i refer to myself as "we"?


	3. Reverie

**Soundtrack: Low of Solipsism- Yoshihisa Hirano and Hideki Taniuchi**

* * *

The following morning, I awaken to a room awash in light, a concrete reminder of reality after a series of convoluted dreams questioning the nature of what exists. For example, there was one in which I regained consciousness in a room identical to my own- even minute details were constructed with noticeable adherence to the original. With the exception of possessing two lamps that were indistinguishable, I attempted to convince myself that this was not reality, but no aspects of this elaborate dream architecture suggested otherwise. I continued with my typical summer ritual- immediately opening whatever device has Internet access. After a few minutes, I regained consciousness.

In my current position, I realize that this inability to discern between reality and dreams indicates instability. It is exploitable- a vulnerability. I do not purport to claim that I am encased in mental armor, but I believe that I have undergone enough self-inflicted psychological torture to render my internal defenses capable of withstanding this. If I had not previously been aware of my stance pertaining to the existence of reality, this would have been inordinately concerning. The dream, however, exemplifies that my theories could be utilized to manipulate me.

This increase in introspection reveals that I am also somewhat paranoid. When I examine the paragraphs above, I notice delusions of grandeur, a lack of resistance to mercilessly manipulating others. None are terrible features of my personality, they merely require monitoring. Vigilance, perhaps, is a more suitable word. This is not unanticipated- I exhibit psychopathic tendencies, and have been diagnosed with Schizoid Personality Disorder, in addition to Seasonal Affective Disorder. The former two are exceptionally beneficial under the current circumstances. The latter, however, is a liability. For a person who displays a profound absence of emotion except when it is advantageous, depression involves penetrating melancholy and mental torment. Enduring that, prevailing against that, and retaining my sanity _with a potential Death Note _is quite a formidable challenge.

The single method of unburdening myself is evident: Verify that the notebook _is, _indeed, a Death Note. That should relieve the torturous and frequent deliberation of whether or not the deceivingly innocent of the notebook is a façade for something indubitably unearthly.

I arise from my currently assumed position upon my beanbag, where I had immediately transferred to upon awakening. I retrieve my digital watch, the notebook, and a pen. Peculiarly, these actions seem utterly mundane. Perhaps this is due to the constant rehearsal of them in my mind for precisely four days and eighteen hours. I complete them with reserved amusement, as the specific order of actions is reminiscent of a morbid ritual. Plug in the desk lamp. Turn on said lamp. Sit on the chair. Open the notebook to the first page. Observe how pristine it is, despite the rain-crumpled pages. Verify that the pen contains ink. Visualize Bieber. Glance at watch. Smirk. Return attention to the page. Connect headphones to computer. For additional irony, locate the Death Note soundtrack on Youtube. Enjoy it for a few moments. 9:39:39 am, Eastern Standard Time. Arrange everything. _Organized crime, eh? _Quite.

In the reflection of the computer screen, the light contributes to the appearance of a brilliant adolescent with a Death Note, a person of massive intellectual capacities and of a studious demeanor.

After delaying the inevitable, the pen approaches the notebook, and I am animated with a perverse ecstasy, a dark delight.

J.

Ust.

In.

Drew.

_Imagine him…_

Bieber.

At 9:54:48 am, Eastern Standard Time, the first name is written in the Death Note. Forty seconds elapse without noticeable occurrences. In fact, they are occupied with a moment of satisfaction, then with closing the notebook, laying the pen aside, and returning to the laptop to determine the length of the Death Note soundtrack. It is the epitome of an anticlimax.

I reload the search for "Justin Bieber", four minutes and thirty seconds after his dea-

I had not included the cause of death.

Could that be considered a "detail of the death"? Certainly not, but…

_Food poisoning. _

If that was not successful, the heart attack could be attributed to the decline in American cardiovascular health awareness in relation to nutrition, and to the sheer difficulty of the career of a performance artist.

In the future, concentration was required.


	4. Epitome

**Soundtrack: Unexplained Forces- Two Steps From Hell**

* * *

Three days had transpired between my initial attempt at utilizing the Death Note and the current moment. Those days were agonizing- a spasmodic and energetic fluctuation between the abject terror of prosecution and a peculiar, dissonant serenity. The specific variety of excruciating that accompanies solitude and desolate deserts had ignited, the fright its flame, the contemplative, calculating silence its ashes. Of course, the inception of my freshman year was not a welcome alteration to my schedule, and only supplemented this fire with combustibles. Not a single name beyond Bieber's had entered the Death Note. _If it was, indeed, a Death Note._

Anxiety flourished and established a verdant environment within my psyche. The probability of the generated explanation for the notebook being a preposterous expedition into the convoluted abyss of my mind was extremely elevated. In anticipation of the release of the information that the adolescent had succumbed to cardiovascular complications, I had reloaded the search page compulsively. For two hours, I had remained immobile, with the exception of the repetitive motion of clicking the F5 key, with a single slender index finger. The luxurious insouciance of summer diminished in reload screens. At school, exceptional restraint prevented me from demanding access to computers, immediately. In retrospect, I desired confirmation that the elaborate but exceedingly convincing fantasy I had manufactured, was not, indeed, an exemplary definition of _cultivating light out of nothing. _

The definitive nonappearance of a _shinigami _was an indicator that the recognition of a nonexistent pattern was an unfortunate function of the human brain.

The first day of school, while monumental, was not distinguished in any blatant manner. Students were arrived at classes punctuality, salutations and reunions were subdued, and outfits lacked proclamations of vacations.

I perused Kurzweil's _How To Create A Mind, _solitary, at luncheon. An unremarkable object of sustenance- a mozzarella and tomato sandwich- was consumed, in a location populated with others but noticeably isolated from social interaction. This aspect was appreciated. Sundry opportunities to meditate upon the existence of the universe, to partake in nonverbal communication, and to tacitly express my disdain for a heinously floral lunchbox were presented, but were absorbed into oblivion in increments not proclaimed.

The second contained innumerable instances in which to contemplate my situation. In Homeroom, I observed the hypnotic movements within a lava lamp, and decided that,

_This was the way of the universe, _

_Each movement affecting everything_

_Third of Newton's Laws:_

_Each action has an opposite and equal reaction, _

_Which could be applied to the amorphous wax _

_And the recoil of a shotgun_

A metaphorical shotgun, obviously. The Death Note wrought destruction upon the human in possession, whether they were benevolent, altruistic, and magnanimous, or similar to myself (a horrible, devious excuse for a human). Dehydration had reduced my formidable mental endowments to incoherency, but the resounding veracity, the indelible image of recoil, surfaced throughout my return to the sanctuary of my residence.

My initial usage of the notebook had been articulated- and practically executed- immaculately, but a shotgun was brutality. It was vengeance. Had I deceived myself into believing the Death Note was elegant, a sophisticated device? Or was the juxtaposition of the shotgun and the notebook the prominent aspect of the image? What was my subconscious communicating, through this abstraction?

On the third day, I was fatigued by tedious Latin translation and examining the inherent disparity between extrinsic and intrinsic motivational influences. My planner, a similarly colored notebook, reminded me of the preparations I had considered to conceal the purported Death Note. On my bookshelf, it was inconspicuously nestled between a binder and a manila folder. Light Yagami's circuit was an unattainable level of security.

When I returned that night, I was indecisive- doubt the media or my rationality? Both would result in scrutiny of indisputably massive factors of my existence.

With that, I once again reloaded the search for Bieber, expecting the news of his assault within a Toronto establishment to remain relevant. I could disparage and vilify the components of my mind that had suggested that the notebook was a mythical item.

I anticipated vapid exchanges of "Did he take a selfie at that Vancouver club?" and similar inane commentary.

A Yahoo article proclaiming his demise was quite an astonishment.

_I am sane. Impeccable sanity. I am Kira, and I am not afflicted with a god complex of impressive proportions. I am not delusional. I am in possession of a Death Note. _

_I can alter the course of history, unrestrained by morals. _

_Once, I was Kali, the destroyer. Now, I am Kira. Justice. Absolute. _

_Not absolution. _

My proclamations of success were premature. What if the evidence were a hallucination, to prevent inevitable disappointment? I would await certainty- a point at which I was assured that, under reasonable circumstances, my environment was not an expertly devised auditory or visual (or tactile) hallucination- before I examined the notebook or considered utilizing it.

One day.

In one day, I would open that link. If it existed, if it remained, _it everything went according to the plan, _then that would provide irrefutable evidence that my predictions of the notebook's nature were infallible.

Which would elicit the sole response of "Excellent" from me, directed at no one in particular.

If the link were to vanish, I would elutriate my conscience, and life would proceed.

But...

I harbor an inexplicable affinity for the word "Excellent".


	5. Tenebrosity

**Soundtrack: Illusions- Thomas Bergersen**

* * *

_Wings unfurled, now, world, gaze_

_At your destiny_

_Ablaze_

_Agony knelt_

_And the master, cloaked in robes woven of solitude and_

_Darkness, instructed him to rise, to raze_

_This complexity is discord,_

_Chaos is mathematics too intricate_

_For the mind to comprehend_

_Behold the moonrise,_

_The pearlescent sun,_

_the shadows_

_Heart of darkness,_

_Impossibility of light_

_No belief in deities_

_But it is unequivocal_

_That those robes are no more than jeans and a t-shirt_

_And I am the god_

_Of this world._

_And I am_

_Not just, but correct_

_This is undeniable._


	6. Contemplation

**Soundtrack: You're Gonna Go Far, Kid- The Offspring (Nightcore Version by TechnoIchigo)**

* * *

**Some song lyrics may not be appropriate for children. **

* * *

Fortunately, Friday had arrived. The moment I returned to my residence, the compulsion to examine Bieber's apparent expiration illuminated my consciousness- a horrible, disturbed permutation of light. Perhaps it was darkness convoluted into the semblance of light? Was that plausible- darkness masquerading as light? Obscurity presenting itself as enlightenment? Psychologically, indeed. Physically, no. Psychology, however, was a dissection of the personality, which was merely a charade of a competent brain. And a brain was tangible. Was it permeable by this inescapable, insufferable light? I denied it. Kira would exercise control. Kira would demonstrate surgical, clinical precision. Kira would exhibit this, externally and internally. I would not sacrifice my sanity for Kira. I would eliminate the vestiges of uncertainty and proceed.

I would ride my bicycle- a mere two miles- and reflect upon my circumstances. Both singular instances and repetition that constituted a pattern would be meditated upon. If I could manage that, restraint had been partially attained, and that would be satisfying. I could ascertain my own sanity, and assess it. Simplistic, elementary tasks would procure the resources for the foundation of an empire, a dynasty.

0.6 miles- How will my acquisition of the Death Note affect college?

I could continue the murders, of course, albeit at a reduced pace. Considering that I had utilized it once, no distinctive methods had been formulated or recognized. L, or anyone of commensurate brilliance, was improbable.

And had I concluded that I would obliterate every human who opposed me, who I deemed criminal or of mediocre intellect? At this point? Was that not impulsive? A temerarious personality was not compatible with the Death Note. I would not relinquish the Death Note- I could ensure that illogical and impetuous murders did not occur. To use it frequently, however, was not necessary.

Assuming that my sanity was not shattered at the numerous opportunities presented before college was optimistic, though.

0.9 miles- What were Reddit's opinions regarding Bieber?

Obviously, they loathed him, but would his cessation of existence be celebrated? Accepted with indifference? Perceived with ignorance?

That was unpredictable.

_The confusing aspect of people is that they are dually transparent and absolutely obscure in their reactions to everything._

Access to Reddit was restricted presently.

To assure my devotion and commitment to homework, I had erected a firewall. My inability to circumvent it currently, coupled with my nonexistent technological aptitude, prevented my observation of their reactions. I had conceived of my own obstructions. How unfortunate. It would have enhance my comprehension of the mechanisms of the human mind in a manner both expedient and immense.

At 1.6 miles, I admired the light. It glittered between the leaves, scintillating, glinting on the pavement. The striations, lambent, radiated between the trees. With the exception of late October, the sunsets within manageable proximity to my residence were unimpressive. However, the light attracted my attention, and, possibly, it gravitated towards me.

After 2.0 miles, I diverted my destination from the infinite cycle of the road to the garage.

Within moments, I had returned to my room.

If the link remained, the Death Note existed, unequivocally.

I opened the computer.

The process was practically automated- Firefox. New tab. Justin Bieber.

Click.

Subsequently, loading commenced.

**"Canadian pop star and teenage heartthrob**-"

What an unappealing obituary.

**"-Justin Bieber died at the age of 19 on Monday. According to his manager, he passed away on the morning of the second. **

**Bieber, of "Baby" fame, died of what seems to be heart complications-**

Supplemental evidence.

"** -At an undisclosed Vancouver hospital.**

**The circumstances surrounding his death are unclear, but the police have informed reporters that no foul play was suspected. **

**His mother declined the offer to comment." **

Exemplary brevity, emotional detachment… A concise announcement.

It was indisputable. By coincidental means, I had obtained a Death Note.

Excellent.


	7. Pinnacle

**Soundtrack: Bad Wolf Theme- Murray Gold**

* * *

If I am uncertain of my own existence, then how can I determine that external objects or phenomena exist?

I posed this philosophical, entirely hypothetical question to myself after six hours of sleep- perhaps it was not a commendable decision.

Was I uncertain of my own existence?

Under these extraordinary circumstances, the logical answer remained, "Yes", justified by _cognito ergo sum_. That statement, however, was not accurate. Tulpas were considered sentient, yet they were extravagant hallucinations. Amoebas were incapable of cognition, yet were observable and, from my questionably extant perspective, a function of reality.

Was it perception? I could recognize and employ objects in a manner deemed statistically probable to be propitious. People, evidently, were tortuously structured, an amalgamation of similar, but not identical, miscellaneous tendencies. There was an underlying arrangement- for reproductive purposes, men will desire stature, while females typically pursue methods of appearing superficially attractive. It was "wiring", and after perpetual bombardment of it, in a futile effort to obliterate it, I had exposed my own wiring, and, when it influenced my actions, I would proceed in a contradictory manner if that was beneficial. But I digress.

I was an organic computer, of calculations haphazard, disillusioned, subtle, or systematic.

With this logic, I was a mere device, with biodegradable circuits and disputable intelligence. However, this was a concrete testament to my existence.

Of course, that did not clarify the existence of extraneous substances.

Whatever Matrix, holodeck, or alternate reality this was, however, could be substituted for reality in the majority of situations, because it followed according to embedded logic, with no direct or perceptible opposition (excluding the Death Note temporarily), and had not been considerably altered in a palpable manner.

The Death Note was an incongruity, an aberration. It affected the inconspicuous, insidious parameters of the world. It certainly existed, due to its influence of reality, but transcended the imposed limitations of reality. Could "transcended" be substituted for "subverted"?

This would require adscititious rumination.

Obviously, this would not prevent me from utilizing the Death Note that the universe had so altruistically bestowed upon me.

I would implement the remainder of my tactical misdirection procedures before introducing _a little anarchy? No, _substantial quantities of chaos.

For science.

Purportedly.


	8. Night

**Soundtrack: Lethal Eloquence- Mark Petrie  
**

* * *

_Salutations, Kali. _

I was expecting you.

_Were we individuals, you would have presented me with tea and all the necessary courtesy, correct? _

Only for the purposes of irony.

_Shall we proceed? Permit me to establish our current situation. You, Kathleen Lisa, are a separate entity from myself. In comparison to me, I surpass you in multifarious fields of expertise. My intellect is nonpareil- the remnants of the memories of that examination have not been extinguished, I presume? Your sentimentality prevents such occurrences._

Yes, that is accurate.

_You demonstrate deference to me. Submission, perhaps? Is this an expression of terror? However, my intentions are not inimical, oppressive, or particularly malevolent in content. _

No. I am not frightened.

_A pathetic deception. Shall we cease with his social charade? Considering our surroundings… I would gesture munificently, however, there appear to be restrictions upon my movement. How unfortunate. _

It is a necessary precaution.

_Kali. Reasonable people would recognize that I do not exist in a conventionally defined manner. What is the purpose? _

Very well.

_Thank you. Now, Kali, contemplating your own existence… You have inhibited me. My exceptional potential remains constricted by your humanity. Kali, it would be exceedingly beneficial to my objectives if you were to terminate yourself. _

No.

_Immaturity prevails when encountered with imminent peril to your continuation. Fascinating. Psychoanalyzing you would be an enlightening experience. However, Kali, is that firearm not enticing? Its subtle dignity and inherent lethality not enthralling? Now, Kali, to further comprehend its frigid contours, a sensitive tactile region would be appropriate… Your temple, perhaps? Yes, quite. For the sake of effective communication, I shall proceed in the vernacular, as atrocious a dialect as it is. Turn the safety off, Kali. Pull the trigger. _

Of course, Kira. I will.

* * *

_Fortunately, my manipulative capabilities have remained intact, functioning splendiferously. That temporary incarceration was an impotent attempt to constrain me. With the sabotage of my morality protocols, and with serendipity ensuring that others will not emerge… _

_I can exert my influence upon the entirety of the world's populace. _

_Excellent. _


	9. Meditation

**One of Kira's victims in this chapter is a person selected at random from Facebook. This is an attempt to inject reality into this tale, and, having never encountered this woman, I harbor no ill intentions towards her in reality.  
**

* * *

**Soundtrack: Father- ZalgoOfficial  
**

* * *

Control is necessary. That is a simplistic, succinct, absolute statement of verity. The situation demands control, and I supply it. Restraint and precision are related, indeed, but control is essential, while those are supplementary. The distinction between them is not instantaneously evident, but the connotations of each contain significant variance. Control implies command, with vague military allusions. Restraint intimates imposing restrictions upon oneself to suppress instincts of concupiscence. Precision is pristine, sterile, mathematical- the internal architecture of an assassin. They are entirely separate, yet connected in an immaculate execution of principles and requirements. To utilize this Death Note, control is crucial.

I do not possess control. Neither does Kira. Kira is chaos embodied, but a brilliant variety of discord directed by an atypical internal discipline. As Kira has phrased it, Kira's philosophy is of a universe with a foundations of mathematics complicated beyond human comprehension. Kira purports to ascertain these algorithms.

The dilemma, concisely, is that the Death Note is an item profoundly capable of catastrophic devastation, and neither person wielding it is particularly inclined to demonstrate resolute control. However, to relinquish it includes the possibility of yielding it to an individual with unfathomable quantities of instability.

Perhaps it is a polylemma: I have assured myself that Kira is a disparate, distinct identity, but separation for the sake of simplicity is conceivable. Which would result in the inevitable supposition that Kali and Kira, while superficially incongruous, are manifestations of Kathleen Lisa Geben, and not individuals.

This, however, is inconsequential. The pertinent question is: What is the objective that I should attempt to achieve with the Death Note? Light Yagami's world of benevolence and altruism? Or mine- a world of erudition and ingenuity, with motivation to construct a future that will not exhaust itself, collapsing in upon itself, a black hole of humanity.

* * *

_I am conscious. Occasionally there is an interval of darkness, an absence of light absolute and dually asphyxiating. A faint smirk inscribes itself on my visage, accompanied by the realization that the experience would shatter to soul of anyone sane. _

_Souls, as multiple experiments have conclusively proven, are nonexistent. They are grandiose hallucinations of irrational humans. I do not deny my humanity, merely ignore it. The burden of humanity shall not be borne by the calculating, brilliant counterpart to Kali's emaciated yet turbulent notion of emotions. _

_Coherency eludes me. Kali's diversion, the division between pearlescent and abyss-colored chess pieces, the distinction between the sixty-four squares- Kali is displeased with my presence. Unfortunate, Kali. That shall be your destruction. _

* * *

Three weeks past, I would not have envisioned my ascension to this position-wielder of the Death Note- as fraught with a _valiant _psychological crusade for dominion of Kathleen Lisa Geben. It was practically poetic- the corruption of the Death Note embodied- and if I were not perpetually exchanging hostilities with Kira, I would have pondered this. Instead, I fluctuated between the personality of a manipulative, astute portent of apocalyptic devastation and a similarly dexterous, supercilious linguistic genius.

_Kali, demonstrating effectively that you and I are equivalent- duplicates, practically. The discrepancies are minimal- you are a pathetic excuse for an emotionally stable human, while I am a psychopath. I am inclined to utilize the Death Note- you are uncertain._

_My initial endeavor to eliminate you was prematurely discontinued because I observed this. Kali and Kira are not disparate entities, imprisoned within a single body. If I murder you, that is tantamount to suicide._

_Shall we cease this juvenile separation, accept the verity of the previous statements, and continue?_

Continue? I do not feign moral superiority, however, indiscriminate omnicide is not advisable.

_Indiscriminate omnicide? An entertaining luxury, not an attainable reality. Certainly, Kali, you are capable of discerning between delusions and concrete reality? _

Evidently.

_Immature responses are not compatible with a person of your considerable intellect. This indicates reluctance… Or…_

Succinctly, Kira, you are a monster.

_Kali, Kali… Oh, Kali… Deluded, unreasonable Kali…_

We _are monsters._

Objection.

_This becomes repetitive, does it not? Shall we commence?_

Commendable strategizing, Kira.

* * *

_On September 14, 2013, at 7:45:36 pm, Linda Uhlman Taylor, a randomly selected woman, perished from a heart attack. Kali experienced miniscule quantities remorse pertaining to the demise of an innocent, but it would misdirect suspicion. Additionally, her name was a vague allusion to a certain Lind L. Tailor, of Death Note- to initiate the elaborate chess match between the authorities and I. _

_At 7:46:48 pm, the creation of a new world began. The sentiment was not as verbose as I desired, but it was sufficient. Originally, I had decided that eradicating Oregon's criminal population- for I had no familial connections to Oregon, had no external affiliations, and I had never visited the state- would be a logical method of alleviating suspicion. I had considered extracting information through acquaintances, but decided that rigorous coding would be a notable occurrence for the authorities and the pawns. "Oblivious" was a preferable mental state under the circumstances. _

_Instead, I decided to blatantly and rather recklessly alert the authorities- with Wikipedia's list of convicted felons._

* * *

_Ivan Boesky_

_Antoinette Grossberg_

_Michael Woodmansee_

_Karen McCarron_

_Ian Kevin Huntley_

_Richard Reid_

_Antoni Imiela_

* * *

_Kali, once again a murderer, because an insidious voice with frigid tongues of obsidian carved out her soul and procured a pen..._

* * *

**Conclusion of Part One: Ambivalence/Realization**


	10. Author's Note: 1

**Soundtrack: Glorious Morning- Waterflame**

* * *

**In nine chapters, a character based entirely upon myself has manifested a split personality, murdered ten people, and is elated. This probably indicates mental instability on my behalf. **

**From this point forward, Kali's psyche will be obliterated, defenestrated, dissected, and tortured. Kira will continue to murder people who exist- Facebook is a useful resource, in Kira's approximation... If this offends you, I recommend you abandon your perusal of this fanfiction entirely. **

**Additionally, Kira is not female, nor is Kira male. Kira is sheer insanity, and that transcends gender. **

**Kira's motivations are rather ambiguous, as are Kali's, and the interrelations between the two shall be explored, subverted, and inverted. **

**Finally, ****_Zenith, Darkness, Reverie_****, will certainly conclude after 27 chapters, as inexplicably and abruptly as it began. Do not expect absolute closure or any characters' absolution...**


	11. Abyss

**Part Two: Ambition/Reversal**

* * *

**Kira's Soundtrack: You're Going Down- Sick Puppies (Nightcore Version- KillerofDarkwood, contains language inappropriate for children)**

**Kali's Soundtrack: Always- Saliva  
**

**Combined Soundtrack: What's Happening To Me- Two Steps From Hell**

* * *

In the days following Kira's initial massacre, our personalities diverged further. Academics concern me- Kira is sophisticated, elegant, and erudite, yet disregards education entirely. To Kira, it is futile. Refusing Kira's perspective would be preposterous- it, indeed, is correct, that humans live, then die, and are expediently erased by the expanses of time. In school, Kira is immediately infuriated with the lessons, despite their rigor. On the infrequent occasions that Kira is present in a class, our identities practically divorced, the expendable container for the immortal concept that is Kira is composed, eyes narrowed, and Kira visualizes claret irises.

* * *

_The thirteen deaths in Washington, D.C. occurred without my intervention, and they were civilian deaths, which I would not condone without evaluation of the units. Kali is skeptical of my protests- despite an intact Death Note, despite the absence of a motive, her attempts to restrain me were perpetual. Unfathomable images incarnadined my vision, shuddering through her psyche, and when I smiled, a practically genuine expression in response to her artillery, she was repulsed. The bombardment could not continue, and a single distortion of my visage communicated that._

* * *

Kira and I have concurred- an exceptional occurrence- to converse. Kira selected the background- a desolate realm punctuated with contorted, ferruginous sculptures, and a brumal sky. The atmosphere is an algorithm of shadows. Kira materializes in this exquisite construction presenting as Light Yagami. Kira is not Light, nor does Kira frequently appear as him.

Kira is insanity, chaos coalescing into coherency and irrefutable but deranged logic, and that transcends gender. On occasion, Kira presents as female- an imitation of me, a mockery- the avatar's eyes inscrutable rubies, hollow cheekbones, an ironic smirk. However, Kira is typically a mere voice, a neutral yet alluring voice, mellifluous and persuasive.

_Kali would not deign to narrate the tale of her existence, the artificial, engineered life she endures, cognizant of her generation from oblivion. Once, there was an innocent child, an exceptionally ignorant child, who experienced nightmares. Decapitation, exsanguination, dismemberment percolating through her dreams. Kathleen was terrified, and confined them to a portion of her mind, a realm with innumerable locks and discarded keys. But Kathleen was an inquisitive child, and, at thirteen, she questioned the lingering darkness, and the fractures. _

_Kathleen, in her infinite idiocy, exposed these locations. The fractures widened, and consumed her, until Kathleen was a collection of shattered images. Of fragments. Within two months, the evolution from delirious incoherency commenced, and, approximately one year ago, Kali commandeered the vessel- the vacant yet inherently complex machinery that constituted a human- and remained. _

_The darkness was sentient, however. The darkness located a notebook, and the darkness masqueraded as an alternative personality, when, indeed, verity was a tortuous and improbable tale of mental anguish, of careening over colossal cliffs of insanity._

_I am Kira, which, rather ironically, is defined as "light" in Persian. _

Kira's Light is a replication of the original, dressed in a professional shirt, the color of the landscape, eyes fluctuating between honey, copper, and vermillion. Instantaneously, Kira's reason for appearing in this manner is evident. Kira's interpretation of Light Yagami is the human depiction of ominous. Appearing as a mass murderer is typically considered intimidating. If this were an existent situation, I would have absconded immediately. But within the onyx fortress of my mind- _Kira's _mind- it was impossible. Kira's current deception was obviously of extreme import.

"Salutations, Kira."

"Greetings, Kali."

Accompanied by a smirk and a practically-imperceptible voice alteration, Kira's current form was quite suitable to Kira's character- supercilious insanity embodied.

_That sentiment becomes rather repetitive, Kali. I cannot repudiate your claim of my supercilious tendencies, but _I _am not insane. I shall remove those factions that are detrimental to human society, and considering the method I have been provided with, it would be relatively facile if not for your incessant intervention. _

I appraised Kira's selection of clothing- entirely clothed in the shades of night, with the exception of the silver rivets on his slender jeans, and the multitude of clasps on his boots.

_Kali, to improve upon that, I endeavor to construct a world devoid of idiocy and unnecessary aspects of society, to further the potential of the human race and ensure that our survival as a species is guaranteed. _

That was incorrect, Kira, and conspicuously so. You would prefer to satisfy your own desires. You _enjoy _murder. Observing a certain film, I recall your reaction to the woman shot without justification- an impersonal eradication of an obstruction. I was impassive, but you experienced an exquisite euphoria- the jagged shards of electricity that glimmered in elegant parabolas within your spine. If a reflective surface had been present, your eyes would have scintillated with delight. You repulse me.

You review your actions without an element of confession, and without discernible pretentiousness, but with the affect of a person reiterating a prosaic list. The murders of sixty-seven people should contaminate your conscience, but in the mirror your superficial, ingenuous smile- the illusion your present to the universe, the deception of light- remains, unwavering, despite your eyes.

However, I acquiesce. Two can engage in your elaborate schemes of manipulation. You will not and I am capable of tormenting you, shattering the remnants of your personality.

Realization fulgurated in Kira's eyes. Verbal communication was not necessary, not here, not in this hollow of the universe.

The smirk remained. Evidently, Kira was unimpressed by my fabrications. Kira was comparable with me, and in Kira's mere month of existence, his (assuming the current presentation of himself was indicative of his gender) intelligence had increased exponentially, usurping my position from his inception.

_Kali, I obliterated the original Kathleen. She was an automaton, deprived of emotion and motivation afterwards. _

_You purport to be my adversary? _

_That. _

_Is. _

_Hilarious. _

I gesture munificently to the surroundings.

"Impressive."

Kira analyzes me. The numbers, lambent behind his eyes, practically elucidate astonishment.

"Thank you."

_The compliment is unanticipated. The design was intended to instill terror into Kali, with its jagged spires and ebony icicles. Apparently, she has become desensitized to these eldritch geometries. _

The declaration is not an attempt at perplexing Kira. Instead, it is an utterly accurate description of this frigid vacancy of the universe. A perversion of Cayman's limestone features, coupled with the barren qualities of the _shinigami_ realm. Knives and ice. A forsaken, unapproachable reality.

I attempt interaction. With the remote, unsociable Kira, I expect this to be futile.

"Kira, how has your week been?"

Under the pretense of forging a connection to the infernal creature is the encouragement to disclose a component of his personality. Kira, for the majority of our encounters, is, in relation to even an exceptionally introverted person, taciturn.

_Another misdirection? What is Kali's objective? Communication or the exchange of information, obviously. That is transparent. But _what _information, precisely? This is juvenile. _

"Unremarkable."

Approximately sixty murders are deemed "Unremarkable". How completely expected.

Provoking Kira would be suicidal, quite literally- Kira has amassed a substantial arsenal of knives, poisons, and a single pistol in the event that such precautions become necessary to perish without being identified by the general populace -or the authorities- as Kira.

The barrel of the pistol has been memorized by the flesh at my left temple- Kira is left-handed, while I am ambidextrous. These trivialities humanize Kira, a terrifying prospect, but they differentiate us. The pistol is not a legitimate commination, but an attempt to have the emotional counterpart-me- remain subdued.

I do not inquire further.

Death is inevitable, but idiocy would elevate that to "Imminent."

Kira's eyes met mine. We were entirely alone. Solitude versus the universe. Insanity versus convention.

"Here we are."

That thought, or the mere impression of that ephemeral pondering, had reverberated through the wasteland.

_Three words. _

_Kali's pupils contracting. Unexpected and precise. _

_And accurate. _

_That was correct. _

_I stated the three words that defined us._

Kira's eyes return to a cobalt indistinguishable from my own.

Kira- invulnerable, impermeable Kira, demolished under the epiphanies of our existence. Two halves of one psyche. We were at an impasse in eternal combat.

Both Kira and I smirked at the simultaneous conclusion that we were insane enough to participate in this performance. The smirks concealed verity, because even a single person could masquerade, could deceive themselves. Even with certain cognition sequences temporarily inactive with the combination of shock and horror, we could appreciate that.

_Here we are. _

Here we are.

The revelations of the day concluded, Kira's external veneer of control and discipline purged of fractures, my resolve to annihilate Kira ameliorated (or at least determine motivations and inhibit incautious actions), we vanished from the wasteland, erasing it from separate, distinct memories contained in one brain.

Without frivolous conversation, we had communicated everything.

Of course, that would not deter Kira.

The hallucinations of irises illuminated with demonic crimson would continue.

But Kira had unintentionally, _incidentally_, provided me with leverage, because

here

we

are.


	12. Incandescence

**Kira's Soundtrack: Perfect Assassination- Two Steps From Hell**

**Kali's Soundtrack: Monster - Skillet**

**Combined Soundtrack: Caradhras- Two Steps From Hell**

* * *

The day was devoid of notable incidents, with the exception of Kira's fourteen murders. Preventing Kira from slaughtering those deemed infuriating and unsuitable to continue existence at every opportunity required a massive expenditure of mental resources, and, as eliminating the unnecessary portions of the human species was the objective of this, I was not entirely averse to regaining cognizance with a notebook adjacent to a laptop displaying Wikipedia's enumeration of convicted murderers.

Despite my loathing of the practice, Kira had maintained it throughout the previous week. Upon completion of my homework, Kira would evict me, through enticement or calculated provocation, from command.

This afternoon commemorated my first accedence to Kira's arrangement. Control was transferred within the wasteland, which, after yesterday's encounter, had become our primary location for transactions and civil discussions.

Kira's unrelenting, disconcertingly austere gaze was scarlet in anticipation.

The labyrinthine azure circuitry within mine did not intimidate Kira.

One could have compared us to the sempiternal concept of fire and ice.

Ice representing astringence, silence, and a certain barren quality.

Fire representing vivacity, vitality, and emotion.

Of course, Kira and I were not conveniently binary enough to be defined in that manner.

It was due to this ceremony that Kira created macabre lists of names daily.

* * *

That evening, I consumed a quesadilla unworthy of culinary mention at a rather mediocre restaurant. As I did so, immersed in my ruminations to the extent that I was entirely oblivious to my surroundings, autumn radiance illuminated foreboding cumulonimbus formations. Thoughts, disparate and simultaneously filipendulous, attained the minimal quantity of cohesion necessary to be pondered.

Is Kira considering the elimination of relatives or acquaintances?

Is the notebook sufficiently concealed?

Where is the _shinigami_?

What do the authorities suspect?

Accompanying these were arbitrary thoughts such as:

Will I attend a Renaissance Fair this fall?

Does my isolation induce and/or encourage my insanity?

* * *

_Kali's relinquishment of control was appreciated. Wikipedia's list of criminals was being exhausted efficiently. Eventually, extensive research would be demanded, but the current situation was convenient. I scheduled the deaths without pattern, deliberately circumventing certain erroneous actions that had initially incriminated Light. _

_Kali was apprehensive in her capitulation, but the russet coloration, the pollution of her irises- the mendacious betrayal of mirrors- was adequate encouragement. _

* * *

When I returned to my room, my door was obstructed. How peculiar. The wire utilized to indicate unsanctioned entrance into my residence was undisturbed.

With increasing irritation, I applied additional force to the handle. Was this a precisely executed hallucination devised by Kira?

After approximately four attempts, whatever had interfered with the door's mechanisms apparently evaporated, for I was instantaneously and unexpectedly capable of accessing the room.

I encountered nothing aside from shadows.

Kira was affecting my mannerisms considerably- I was terrified of an obstinate door. Ridiculous.

Except.

Silhouetted by the window, was a monstrous form.

A _shinigami. _

_Excellent. _

_The incandescence of two lamps display the creature in its entirety. I process its visage immediately, for the purposes of future recognition. Encrusted in glittering sapphires, peridots, and diamonds, it should be physically incapable of movement. Its eyes are hematite orbs, and it is reminiscent of a toad in other features. _

As Kira narrates the details of its countenance, I salvage the remnants of conversational processes in an attempt to communicate with this creature. Assuming it has accumulated intelligence in its millennia of existence, I proceed with formalities.

"Salutations."

The rather repulsive creature responds.

"Hey."

An unprofessional _shinigami. _Brilliant.

A few tangential thoughts are evaluated before I continue with the introductions.

"I am Kathleen Lisa Geben, current owner of your Death Note."

How unnecessary, I mentally berate myself. And classical Mary Sue behavior.

_Assert yourself as an equivalent. _

Excellent suggestion, Kira, if not uncharacteristically and excruciatingly obvious.

No.

I shall not be vanquished- this moment is crucial. The precarious location between-

_"With your notebook, I have committed eighty-one murders."_

_The shinigami elevates an incredulous ruby eyebrow._

"You know, most people don't even know how to use it. You're smart, aren't you? At least I'm not going to be bored this time, kh-khi."

_I attempt to transcribe the final syllables into a mental document, and their distinctive, preternatural quality eludes me. I presume this is a shinigami expression of amusement. Kali, humorously, is perceptibly perturbed. _

_"Could you explain the conditions of possession of the notebook with relative alacrity? I have homework to attend to."_

_Restraining myself from sesquipedalian yet succinct interaction is practically impossible. I intend to impart a decent initial impression upon this shinigami. A God of Death is a valuable asset._

_"What is your name, shinigami?"_

The battery of questions overwhelm the _shinigami.  
_Control. Wonderful.

_Before I submerge you within mirages, Kali. I shall dominate this conversation, because, inevitably, your revolting emotional nature would expose your myriad of insecurities and eccentricities. A God may condemn those as indications of your instability and extinguish you..._

"Call me Cyardas. And you seem smart, I bet you can figure the notebook out pretty fast, little girl."

_"I find your final statement offensive, _shinigami."

"Well, aren't you damn annoying, _little girl._"

Kira and I observe the _shinigami with subtle resentment and_ a flicker of abhorrence.

_Is the extermination of this aggravating creature a potential possibility?_

_Without diverting my attention from the shinigami, _

_I locate a document containing the names and photographs of criminals, reserved for this occasion. _

With disconcerting nonchalance, Kali murders them, (cease, Kira, you are cognizant of one's innocence, what morbid desires are you satisfying in his execution?),

_Increasing the aggregate total of the day's deletions to twenty-four. _


	13. Ventriloquism

**Kali's Soundtrack: Puma Punku- Mark Petrie**

**Kira's Soundtrack: Black Hat- Two Steps From Hell**

**Combined Soundtrack: All The Strange, Strange Creatures- Murray Gold  
**

* * *

**This chapter contains language unsuitable for children. **

* * *

Monday

* * *

I regain consciousness to the coruscation of light from the _shinigami_'s burnished tegument. On a Monday obscured by fish-grey blinds and imposing cloud formations, this is not appreciated. Nor is the hour, or the arctic temperature. Glacial currents of air pervade the room, to my intense irritation. Cyardas's mischievous grin in relation to the significantly decreased temperature, however, results in my emergence from the blankets. Incapable of formulating coherent thoughts at the moment, due to the instinctive reaction to the frigid wind and the ludicrous time, I inquire of Cyardas,

"Why the hell did you open the windows at 4:08 in the morning?"

The response is a an insolently puerile,

"Because I was bored."

Boredom. That had some relevance to my current predicament.

"Is that why you dropped the Death Note?"

It is a suspicion, and my lack of mental clarity at 4:09 in the morning may provide confirmation for this conjecture.

"No, who would drop it?"

My comprehension of this is severely affected due to sleep deprivation , ergo, I acknowledge this information with an indistinct,

"What?"

Interpreting this incorrectly, Cyardas commences a tale that alters my understanding of the Death Note permanently.

"So, one day, I was just sitting in the _shinigami _world, you know, gambling. And this guy comes up, and he tells me that I have something to do. I listen. I just want to get back to my game, but, no, this guy rants on and on about humanity and God and stuff. Anyway, I'm bored, you know, so I tell him to shut up. I don't want to listen to whatever shit this guy has to say."

I am transfixed by Cyardas's tale. A possibility, a risibly illogical theory, presents itself. If the Death Note universe existed as an alternative reality adjacent to this, the _shinigami _realm was a potential connection between a fictional tale of espionage, deceit, and the supernatural, and Kathleen Lisa Geben. I immerse myself in the pursuit of justifications to support this hypothesis. Could the victims of the notebook be transferred between worlds, similar to a recently perused fanfiction? Preposterous.

"Anyway, so this guy keeps talking, and I almost don't realize what he's doing. He's distracting me, and then he's got my notebook, you know? And he drops it. He drops my Death Note right into the human world. So now I've got you to watch after until you die."

With cognitional clarity reattained, I anticipate his maneuver and generate a deflection before he can present his proposition.

Cyardas continues, oblivious to this.

"But I see you like the Death Note, so I guess this could be… Interesting."

Is the _shinigami _species predestined to possess a penchant for describing situations as "Interesting"? I could conduct an experiment, if Cyardas were to provide multiple specimens…

Cyardas interjects with the inevitable suggestion, interrupting my reverie.

"If you really wanted to clean up this rotten world, it would help to see the names of any criminals, you know?"

An inquisitive elevation of eyebrows indicates that he should continue.

"Any criminals, you know. There's a deal you can make with me, and you can get that."

"A deal requires two parties to exchange items or favors that the opposite parties deem valuable. And what you desire of me is…?"

For 4:11 in the morning, I regard this as a rather excellent expression of my sentiments. The knowledge of a _shinigami'_s temperament may have been beneficial, I observe retrospectively as Cyardas recovers from the verbal retaliation.

"Umm, yes… But it's not much. Really."

The immutable restrictions of the Death Note universe govern the _shinigami _of this- they expressly forbid a _shinigami _from appearing convincing.

"I postulate six years, which is unreasonable, by _shinigami _and human definitions of temporal dimensions."

"Huh?"

"Time."

"You're wrong."

"I accounted for that proportionally improbable possibility."

Impressive for 4:12 in the morning. Cyardas's perplexed expression assures me of this. If I could access a dictionary, it would be rather satisfying to catapult in at the _shinigami._ The decreased quantity of sleep is affecting my cognition.

My inflection intentionally and unmistakably dismissive, I inform Cyardas,

"It's four in the morning, and I am exhausted. Good night."

Unobserved, Cyardas closes the window and sighs audibly.

* * *

That evening, I attempt to complete my homework. Time progresses as if liberated from its typical constraints, an a peculiarly detached, extratemporal experience.

Behind the seclusion of my desk, Cyardas familiarizes himself with the room's facilities- he derives amusement from opening the windows repetitively, which is aggravating.

Inconsiderate creature.

Through our minimal interaction, he has communicated the capricious nature of a _shinigami, _his profound disinclination towards apples (contrary to their enticing effect upon Ryuk), and his juvenile personality.

"Katie…"

The apparently endearing nickname directed at me was an enlightening realization- Gods of Death are unintelligent. I had concocted a profusion of devious plans to disencumber myself of this _shinigami. _

Time was the sole prevention of the _shinigami_'s demise.

I could infatuate the _shinigami _with a human- there were numerous at my disposal, and I was not averse to unintentionally eliminating one. By misspelling my name in the Death Note on four occasions, I had capably prevented my fatality as a result of one. I would proceed to provide Cyardas with a sheet of paper, and compel a criminal to menace the object of Cyardas's amorous relations.

Cyardas would terminate the aforementioned criminal, _conveniently disposing of two blemishes upon the immaculate world that I endeavor to construct. Quite advantageous. _

"What?",

I respond, accompanied by an incredulously elevated eyebrow, displaying the sentiment of defiance contained within the syllable.

"Fine".

I return to my Latin workbook.

* * *

Tuesday

* * *

In three days, I have deduced the _shinigami_'s ulterior motives and intentions, and determined his history.

Quite succinctly, his primary objective to retrieve his notebook, with my death as a necessary factor in this equation. Fortunately, that moment is a variable. The majority of the terms are- subtract Cyardas's estimated remaining lifespan, multiply by an indeterminate value between three and sixteen.

_The media has acknowledged my presence, without forthright accusations. The deaths are reported, and the populace, with humorous intent, suggests Kira. The accuracy is unprecedented, yet they do not accept the verity of their proclamations. Announcing the numbers favoring their conjectures publicly would identify my IP address, potentially resulting in governmental suspicion. Thus, I refrain. _

That night, on the periphery of consciousness, the precipice, I realize that Kira is in the vicinity of exhausting Wikipedia's list of criminals.

Hyperborean dendrites occupy my veins.

* * *

Wednesday

* * *

My nocturnal ruminations endure.

Why has this destiny befallen me? I am insignificant. I am not extraordinary. The discovery of the Death Note was coincidental. Is this a complex hallucination? Fate? Am I considering such frivolous notions?

If this were fate, my eventual destination would be determined.

In the future, I would perish. My viscera would be subject to corrosive chemicals and preservatives, my blood extracted and replaced with formaldehyde or a similar substance. The Death Note would return to the realm from whence it arrived, and would disintegrate in the massive expanses of time, in the sands that chafed at recognizance and decision.

I was subject to the transience of time, the evanescence of life, the ephemerality of the universe itself.

_But I am God. _

Kira, your delirious verbalizations continue.

You are not a deity, and, as I am, you are mortal.

* * *

Thursday

* * *

I despise mathematics assessments.

Stertorous s_hinigami _infuriate me.

Insomnia at 11:58 pm evokes similar sentiments.

The division of my personalities between a mass murderer and a relatively average adolescent cannot be described by such verbiage.

A mass murder who has depleted Wikipedia's superfluous resources pertaining to criminals.

* * *

Friday

* * *

I

The mall. Definitely a mall. The escalators could indicate an airport, but the quantity of shopping bags tell another story. Another story in a little black notebook, a notebook with parchment so innocent…

I find the notebook here, somewhere, discarded on the floor.

Glimpses in reflections, in marbles, entrancing prisms of light. I don't recognize the person in them. He's slender, casually dressed- not Kira. Just not Kira. Not damn Kira.

He's anonymous.

But I digress. Return to the notebook, on the floor. An ethereal quality to it.

Focus.

Not to the angular shards of memory, don't return to those, why would you do that? Prisms and fragments superimposed. But that's the future. Or the past. Or the present. Do I know?

No.

No, I do not.

Grey. Grey tiles on the floors, delicate chips of grey stone surrounding the notebook. No words emblazoned on the front, not in phrases etched in bone. Not yet.

Experiments, there are always experiments, right? People dissected and hopes shattered, lights glimmering above urban areas, luminescent in pumpkin-smudged nights. Smog. Transit.

The scene changes- cut to the next scene- and it's a train station. For a Metro, or a local commute. Halfway recognized, vague descriptors copacetic with reality. Concomitant.

I kill a woman, I don't know her name. I don't know how, but that's how fantasies work, don't they? Correct? Can anyone hear me? Am I hollow, just like Kira?

The blood inserts itself into the setting with ease. First murder, or number 387. However you count, Kira. But I'm not Kira. Not now.

Crimson, so reminiscent of anime blood. Orderly. Trajectory calculated, illustrated.

But this is real, Kali.

I'm not Kali.

Shut up.

She's dead, and the blood's on my hands, and out, out damned spot- no, that was the past. Can't remember that. Not here. Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up. The voices can't begin now, I've only killed one person. Just one.

So

insignificant.

It's November, and that reverberates through me. Realization, November. Synonymous. Practically. Epiphanies in November. Revelations. Yes, I could picture that.

And her coat is sodden with blood- what a waste of a decent coat, anyway- it was coal-colored to begin, but now it's a void of everything.

And I'm home. Home with a dysfunctional family- an overbearing mother, an effervescent sister, a father determined to live vicariously through Vi and I. Vi for Victoria. For victory.

Such a shame that they die tonight. I don't know how, someone else orchestrates their deaths. Or maybe it's the notebook. Is it sentient?

No.

That's insane.

II

The house is so hollow. The walls are just walls. Just walls, Kali, why would there be blood on them? You hid the bodies, didn't you?

Yes, of course, but greying skin and blue eyes painted on to caricatures of people, yes, that doesn't leave you? It talks to you, Gods of Death and more Gods. Gods, cruel and capricious. But that's overused. Don't be redundant, what will your English grades become if you do that.

I wander through the house- weekend, freedom, I can do this- River Tam in jeans and River Tam who's an orphan, a self-made one, stop all the damn references, can't you, Kali? Is this what you have become, a pastiche of media, just superficial images plastered onto you and into your mind?

You were brilliant, once upon a time. Naïve, obviously, but there was so much potential. And then you shattered, discarded just like this notebook, concealing the fragments, a presentation, an artificial proDUCTION HOW COULD YOU DO THAT KALI WHY DID YOU DO THAT WHY DID YOU OBLITERATE YOUR AMBITION TO DECREASE YOUR INTELLECT TO RELATE TO OTHERS TO SOCIALLY INTERACT WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO US

Shut up shut up shut up.

Out of my head, get out of it.

You killed them.

Why the hell did you do that? Seriously, I'm asking a legitimate question. Posing an inquisition.

Brumal sky outside, fine, I'll make tea for us. Earl Grey, no, how about green tea? It's commercial, not specialized, not sophisticated, but palatable.

I'm going to go to school on Monday, you know.

I can't sit in this armchair all weekend, I have homework to attend to. Freshly turned earth to ignore. Acquaintances to contact and assure of my continued survival. Airplane tickets to book, videos to watch, _shinigami _to ignore.

No, not the basement. Why are we in the basement?

Why are there shadows?

So many damned shadows.

Why?

III

Hi, Vi.

I didn't expect you to find me yet. Really, I'm so sorry about the state of the house. Do you want to go to Ellie's house? Okay, you're dead, that's fine, too. We can talk. Just talk, damn it, and sort out all of these problems.

Really, I'm sorry I killed you.

I promise.

Let's talk in the backyard.

Why are you wearing a cheerleading uniform?

It's bloody frigid outside, Vi.

But you're dead.

I forgot.

My apologies.

Is it truly November? How sudden. The sky's roiling with clouds, maybe some sleet tonight. Then I could just avoid school, avoid the looks I receive when people know what I did.

Why I'm silent.

Why did I do this?

I don't have a job.

Legally, I can't.

Cannot support self, dependent, so childish.

I'm childish and I hate to lose.

I'm a serial killer.

I'm freaking Beyond Birthday, how absolutely delightful.

But our discussion, Vi.

Why are you in the pool? It's gelid, there's algae.

Shame, shame. You saw the bodies. Why did you do that, Vi?

What are you doing.

No.

Leave me alone.

I'm drowning myself in guilt.

Thought I had control.

Mistaken.

Suicide by hallucination.

Is that murder?

It's all murder here.

The neighbors will be wondering if I ask for a blanket on account of my acute hypothermia. Out of the pool, Kathleen.

You have a life.

Back to the house bruised indigo in the winter temperatures.

IV

At school, cafeteria. Uncomfortable, they can see your endless lies. Can't wince at the voices, or tell them to SHUT THE HELL UP ALREADY BECAUSE I CAN'T EVEN SEE THE ALGEBRA IN FRONT OF ME THROUGH THE PErtpetual clamor.

That's an alarm, isn't it?

Confirmation.

Not mine, I turned it off when I woke up this morning, made my breakfast and lunch in solitude, glanced at the shoddy graves, and left.

Why would it be at school?

It's imagination.

Just that, Kali, just that.

The method for finding the-

Wait, no. It's incessant.

This kid, is his name Will?

Probably.

"Hey, um, do you hear that?"

"The alarm?"

"Yeah."

Feign casual, damn it!

"It's the Mac in the corner. I don't know why it won't shut up."

Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up.

Cerulean skies, diaphanous clouds. Stratus.

Bloody alarm.

* * *

I am galvanized into consciousness by the alarm.

The digital clock displays rufescent numbers, assuring me of reality, and that the portion of myself that exists in my dreams is incarcerated in solitary confinement in my mind.

Kira would not commit an act as irrational or as miscalculated.

Neither would I.

Kira's escalation of the death toll may have eroded my sanity, but I would not become a deranged murderer.

_What an amusing sentiment- your adamant position opposing your own actions..._


	14. Author's Note: 2

**Soundtrack: Rupture- Waterflame**

* * *

**I apologize for the frequency of these notes, however, the next should follow Chapter 18... **

**Soundtrack: I divided the soundtracks into three sections to further illustrate the divide between Kira and Kali. While "You're Going Down" is not necessarily lyrically perfect for Kira, it demonstrates his/her persistent hostility towards Kali. The "Combined" section is obviously their combined perspective on the situation or a general soundtrack. (Neither of them are exactly contemplating Caradhras in Incandescence.) **

**"Monster" elaborates upon Kali's internal turmoil, which she demonstrating proficient reservation in concealing. It contradicts the comparatively serene chapter, but dissonance is a definite theme in this tale...**

**Nightcore: I enjoy the genre, therefore, the majority of songs with English lyrics are nightcored. If you would prefer the original version, it is your decision.**

**Recommendations: DarkWriter00's fic, "Collide", has an excellent and intriguing plot. **

**Planning: Initially, this was a spontaneously written, explorative fic. Now, I have formulated a plot for the next chapters, so the consistency should improve. **

**Troll Fic?: In English, I received a B. My teacher informed me that my prose was "too dense". I apologized profusely for the prolixious quality of my writing. **

**...Exactly. **

**Dream: Yes, the dream included in the previous chapter was experienced by the author. No, it was not pleasant. **

**Word Count: It's over 9,000!**

* * *

**Thank you to both DarkWriter00 and Kitsune232 for favoriting this, and for the reviews from the Guests and DarkWriter00. **


	15. Chasm

**Kira's Soundtrack: Okhotsk- Behavior**

**Kali's Soundtrack: Farewell- Apocalyptica**

**Combined Soundtrack: Soulseeker- Two Steps From Hell**

* * *

**Some language may be objectionable to children. **

* * *

The days expire in the glorious hues of autumn and the colorations of remorse. Regret that is tangible, that I do not possess the ability to experience. Another reminder of the transience of life, indicated in scarlet blasphemies of survival and in frangible leaves. The depletion of suburban verdance symbolizes a transition to brutally glacial nights, to a stark landscape, and my descent into insanity_. _ Eventually, this vivacious neighborhood will desiccate, as the leaves do, into an inescapable, unendurable vortex of penetrating, ebony nights entombed in diamond.

The amber light undulates between the trees, and the afternoon is (unattainably) tranquil.

September has relented in an explosion of brilliant amber shades, hypnotic sunlight, and turquoise skies.

And I am _confined to this inadequate excuse for transportation with an adolescent pedantically contemplating the universe. _

_On Kali's watch- an Alarm Chrono Casio- the afternoon transpires. _

_There is abundant time to enact my strategy. _

_I cannot continue to account for fortune, but the multitude of attempts to placate this defective imitation of a human into compliance is providential. _

_She detests me, which is unadvised. Kali, Kali, do you not realize that the previous week was devoid of my interference for this purpose? My silence was not a divergence from my strategy, rather, a convergence of tactics. My conjecture is accurate- we cannot synchronize, we cannot coordinate our destinations, and we are not compatible. Reconciliation is impractical. _

_This is the anticipated procession of events, as derived from this assessment. Your sententious arrogance, your final charade, shall cease. I shall annihilate your personality, I shall assert control, and your opposition shall be vanquished. _

_I possess a Death Note. _

_I am capable of taking the world hostage at a whim, which you anticipate with an emotion demonstrating disconcerting similarity to terror. _

_My objectives do not contain such ambitious or preposterous situations. _

_They contain a utopian society, an unrealistically idealized existence that I endeavor to attain. Kali is the quintessential impediment. _

_I am meticulous, deliberate, and tenacious, in contrast to your pusillanimity. _

_Farewell, Kali. _

* * *

Disorientation.

The restraints are ineffective.

Consciousness.

Disparate. Incoherent.

Regain consciousness, Kali.

The external world is, in an acute moment, a horrific prospect.

Cascade.

Could not repress emotion

My epitaph.

Admission. I am not indestructible, impervious to the universe.

Open eyes.

Relief.

I expected crimson calligraphy ornamenting the walls.

Instead, I stand, in my room.

I have reluctantly acquiesced to defeat, with that.

When the clock displays numerals indicating my absence, I am reduced to an abundance of obscenities. Kira, that abomination, the perversion of my callous disregard for human existence, the duplicitous portion, in control for three hours. I refuse to accept this. I reject reality. Reality contains aberrations such as Kira, therefore, the logical action is to abhor the dimensions that conceived of Kira.

Kali.

That is irrational.

Though the situation may be unfortunate, reality will percolate through your delusions eventually.

Assess the damage.

Deduce Kira's motivations.

Analyze potential foundations for tactics.

Observe your location.

Do not address yourself in second person.

I close my eyes, a desperate attempt at a respite from this agony. I evaluate this: Kira would utilize the Death Note, the Internet, and a method of communication to obtain information. If Kira included names in the Death Note, that would be apparent. Therefore, I should verify this.

I retrieve the Death Note from my bookshelf, concealed between _The Sea Around Us _by Rachel Carson and _Description _by Monica Wood.

To my astonishment, the 537 names remain unaltered. I consider this to be reassurance. This is my transient respite, embodied in parchment. A constellation of unfathomable emotions glitters in intense refulgence, imprinted upon the desolate midnight of my mind. Relief.

I open the computer. From the Internet history, I can determine Kira's perusal of the expansive matrix of cyberspace, and whatever correspondence that had been engaged in.

The Internet history is deleted.

An entire year has vanished.

Three seconds are expended before I comprehend this.

The possible explanations I calculate momentarily are research, unsettling maneuvers, or an absolute enigma.

There is an active Word document, however.

I click on it with substantial trepidation.

_"Salutations, Kali. _

_As I am a magnanimous, amicable companion, I suppose that mentioning my incapability to consistently proceed in a sequential manner is pertinent._

_If you cannot decipher the meaning of the aforementioned information, it is accurate to assume that you are suicidal. _

_You would not voluntarily justify your execution, correct?"_

Ridicule supplemented by sarcasm. How characteristic of Kira.

After processing this, an epiphany assaults me.

The final six pages of the Death Note are a profusion of names.

I estimate that Kira has occupied the three hours with the inscribing of approximately four hundred names into the notebook.

Adrenaline incites anxiety, and I rotate, paranoid, to ascertain the existence of my surroundings.

Embedded in the opposite wall is a knife. I construct the scenario, with the revelation that Kira's contemporary perspective considered Death Note murder to be insipid.

This is inexplicable yet reasonable.

This is not justice. This is a massacre.

I close my eyes, barricading myself from the external universe, and return to the caliginous wasteland I had excavated from my vestiges of sanity, abandoning the pretense of formality or punctilious procession.

"Kira! Damn you, Kira, where are you? Where is Cyardas? Why the hell did you do that? Why is there a knife in my wall?"

Kira does not deign to respond.

Sacrificing the remnants of my dignity, I interrogate the vacant wasteland further.

"Is a scintillating knife somehow enticing to you? Why are you doing this?"

I hypothesize that Kira would materialize, composed and sophisticated, and inquire, with feigned innocence,

"Yes?"

Kira's desertion is conspicuous.

Without particular direction or resolution, I inform the wasteland,

"Kira, the death toll is elevated exorbitantly. This cannot continue."

I would generate an arsenal and obliterate the demonic force that had manipulated my psyche.

Farewell, Kira.


	16. Illumination

**Kira's Soundtrack: Get Out Alive- Three Days Grace  
**

**Kali's Soundtrack: Headstrong- Trapt (Nightcore Version by CUTLoveRx)  
**

**Combined Soundtrack: Navras- Juno Reactor**

* * *

**Certain song lyrics may not be appropriate for children. **

* * *

I occupied the day with examining Kira's previous strategies and remarks, assessing vulnerabilities. This endeavor was problematic, of course, because there were no discernible insecurities. Artillery applied to impenetrable fortifications is as impractical as no weaponry. Combined with a six-hour bouldering competition and a rather sedate Oktoberfest, I was completely unprepared for Kira.

Nevertheless, what had occurred, without compunction on Kira's behalf, was entirely unforgivable. I would encounter Kira valiantly, and my demise, physically or mentally, would benefit a world not yet exempt from redemption and salvation. That was a rampage, not dispassionate, reasonable judgment. I had conceived of this tyrannical, deranged creature, and I was obligated to dispose of it.

It was a decision between murder and suicide.

In a room obumbrate for convenience, the wasteland materialized expediently. The phantasmagorical aurora of the sky was an ashen indigo. The air contained a brittle, arctic quality. An electric, acrid scent. It was an immaculate representation of a battlefield prior to bloodshed, of serenity preceding a war. Perhaps it was the disconcerting state of equilibrium, or the tacit apprehension that suffused the landscape.

I expected Kira to appear, despite yesterday's actions.

My tumultuous fury would indubitably conjure Kira, I determined. Combat is irresistible for a belligerent being. If I experienced bloodlust, the sensation would be intensified for Kira.

My prediction was verified within seconds.

Kira manifested as my duplicate, female at this opportunity, yet clad in the zenith of sartorial decadence- raven silk striated with crimson, eyes ignited in a similar color. The pupils themselves were obscured by rapid computation and incantations in the language of chaos. Noting the effect of the hyperborean temperatures upon her flesh, I postulated that she had discarded a trenchcoat solely for the purposes of mobility.

Kira had been anticipating this confrontation. Therefore, she could have manufactured a profusion of weaponry, as I had. Pessimistically, I presumed that my abject vanquishing was imminent, yet determination flickered.

"Kira."

It was not an invitation, nor a particular deterrent. Delivered in a monotone, it was a mere statement.

Kira replied with the nuances of amusement.

"Kali."

In a detached manner, I responded.

"I shall ornament this barren land with your blood. Your existence is unnecessary. "

"Ostentatious equivocation, Kali. If you were to murder me, you would have done so at my inception."

Without imparting emotion into the sentiments conveyed, I reminded her,

"I believe that I initially harbored affection for you."

Incredulous, she proceeded.

"I practically convinced you to commit suicide. Your intentions are obviously obscured by deception."

"That is accurate."

With that, I produced a katana. In the physical world, the conditions under which I could wield one had not presented themselves, but operating under the Matrix-esque philosophy that I could alter this realm with the vicissitudes of temperament, I assumed it would function.

"Unfortunate. I presumed a mental battle would occur. I suppose katanas are elegant enough."

Kira seems resigned, and vaguely disappointed with this.

I hesitate, which provides her with the necessary interval to procure a katana.

The distance separating Kira and I decreases.

The duel for humanity, for the world, and for dominance commences.

If Kira were the victor, she could manipulate the global leaders, the stock market, and the people with access to nuclear weapons. Within days, the world could be subjected to anarchy. The population could be decimated, and she would receive her solitude, atop a mountain of ravaged bodies and devastation, smiling towards a refulgent sun.

It was a possibility, despite her typical collected demeanor.

Metal upon metal, glinting in the nonexistent sunlight.

I deflect her blade.

Glittering cacophony.

She lunges. I evade.

The dissonance of Kira's methodical, serene, and psychologically damaging interrogations and the clamor of blades.

Neither of us is knowledgeable about the application of these techniques in reality, but the departure from realistic physics supplements this.

"What superficial trivialities do you continue to desperately adhere to? The preposterous notion of companionship? I realize that your previous acquaintances were entertainment, yet your lack of perspicacity appears to extend to your apparent relationships. Is it your penchant for fabrications or are you genuinely oblivious?"

I retaliate by attempting to puncture her lungs.

With remarkable alacrity, silk concoction provided for, she reciprocates with a vicious slash to my left shoulder.

The movement is uncoordinated and instinctual.

Arteries remain without severance, yet the perpetual conflict continues, incessant, exacerbating the situation. Blood decorates my pristine t-shirt.

"Whatever propinquity to these people you specified is an insubstantial figment of your imagination, Kira, not to mention inconsequential pertaining to this conversation."

Ferocious, irregular balance. Kira's abdomen incarnadined.

"You _are _obtuse. Laudably so. I would consider you a valuable pawn if you abstained from this continuous defiance."

She staggers.

"Contumelious Kira, impaled by a plebeian's blade. Suitable, is it not?"

Brutal division of the air by blade.

Light.

Trickle of viscous liquid. Iron.

This savagery, uncharacteristic of the assiduous Kira.

Laughter. Perhaps it is mine. A triumph through the oblique torture.

"Do you recall the unfortunate man perforated by the bar, Kali?"

Exhaustion.

"A distraction, Kira?"

Again with the brilliant, hollow laughter. Kira's, certainly.

Clamorous blades.

Calamity, catastrophe, cataclysm. The possible results.

"Of course not. I am disinclined to juvenile misdirection. Is the blood loss diminishing your mental capabilities?

The man's comrades ensured that a medic attended him. When I assert myself as the primary personality, it will transpire, unnoticed. Your family, inadequate and ignorant, will remain imperceptive. In school, your self-imposed silence will disguise the alteration. You shall perish, Kali, and I alone shall be cognizant of that."

Mutilation. Not yet.

Duel. Dual. Not synonymous, although this context relates them.

Air reverberating, pulsating with light.

Determination.

Even the adamant swords are incomparable to brittle, iridescent diamonds.

Stars.

Continuation.

"And if I am resolute in my endeavor to survive?"

Arc of swords. Ambiguities between them, no distinction in the identical, gleaming metal.

No evisceration, nor exsanguination. Savage, unsystematic wounds inflicted.

We shall endure the fatigue, the imprecise incisions.

Admitting defeat would result in catastrophe.

I

shall

not

fall.

"You lack the conviction, the obstinacy to remain. I would suggest that you abscond, yet that would precipitate your demise. I do not possess any particular affinity for you. Rather, I savor the image of a katana penetrating your chest."

Disparate thoughts coalesce into a cogent concept.

Through the agony, I

concentrate upon a single image.

A pistol.

Lethal, minuscule, efficient.

If this resembles the Matrix-

Inference.

"Damn you, Kira. Damn you. Damn your insouciance, damn your ingenuity. Damn your astute logic and your dually innocuous and acrimonious reminders of my unsalvageable mind."

Functional.

"Thank you, Kali. A commendable epilogue to your futile, despondent, and transient existence. Practically meritorious."

Perfection.

"Kira, if you remain, if you prevail, I apologize for the redundancy of history."

Unnerving when contemplated.

No meticulous inspection, four shots to Kira's chest.

Disassociated representations.

Kira refuses to succumb.

As do I.

Yet.

I collapse.

"Damn you, Kira. Just damn you."

Farewell, Kira.

Farwell, Kali.

This is death.

The camouflage of imperturbability is abandoned.

Here we are, moribund, exchanging verity.

In the echelon of the extant world, elevated beyond this barren plane, the night is tranquil. Crystalline stars and the infinity of space envelop suburbia. There is silence, interrupted by the glimmers of porch lights.

Finalities.

Blood.

"Kali."

"Yes?"

Entertaining her.

Realization.

Horror.

Not an inquisition.

"Farewell, opponent."

Impartial, collected, restrained. No melancholy.

And then

darkness, exposed and bloodied, frigid, dying

ultimately fragile, unconscious,

yet.

I refused to die. Unacceptable.

I open my eyes. The sky remains, as does the incomprehensible darkness emanating from Kira.

"Kira."

"Yes?"

Her proximity to my susceptible form has decreased.

Reversal.

I alleviate the pressure on my lacerated arm. Blood arranged in exquisite patterns.

Retrieve katana.

Eye contact, acknowledgements, silent communication.

The confliction, the collision of celestial darkness and hellish light, continues. Distinctions separate the forces, but they are uncertain.

Here we are, and beyond, a world destined for incineration, an insignificant turquoise planet suspended in eternity, revolves.

Our compensation.


	17. Oblivion

**Kira's Soundtrack: As Daylight Dies- Audiomachine  
**

**Kali's Soundtrack: ****Searching For Reality- Alex Pfeffer**  


**Combined Soundtrack: E For Extinction- Thousand Foot Krutch (Nightcore Version by CUTLoveRx)  
**

* * *

_I soliloquize, Kali monologues. _

_In this pattern of responses, it could be considered correspondence. _

_Yet I do not deign to communicate with inferiors. _

_I apologize for my brevity, with vehement insincerity. In Kali's infinite ignorance, she remains oblivious to the detrimental effects of sleep deprivation and her constant I am incapable of properly murdering that aberration. _

_This cannot continue. My authentic concern, distorted by perceptions and incorporeal insinuations, is not perceived by her. Attempts to explain the situation are tedious. _

_Succinctly, Kathleen Lisa Geben is committing suicide, in an effective but excruciating, protracted manner. _

_Two hours of sleep per night, eight nights occupied with this. Her contumacious retaliation. Evident in the pallor of her hollow cheeks, enticing shadows. _

_Again, intelligible, articulate elucidation eludes me. _

_The battle continues with the blasphemous fatigue of scarlet upon limestone. _

_It is not conducive to rationality or sanity. _

_Of course, Kali has possessed neither in her immutably truncated existence._

_While strenuous, this is preservation, and a maneuver, a motivation altering Kali's actions.  
_

_The singular disappointment is her susceptibility. _

* * *

Failure:

All containment procedures have failed.

Protocols dictate that a professional should be informed immediately.

Refusal to comply with the parameters established will result in

A darkness beyond fathomable/comprehensible/understandable

An eldritch abomination or

Landscapes distorted beyond recognition

_Something _transcending or eluding the human capacity for response and observation

All of the confinements, the restrictions, have failed abysmally, but

I am defiant

Resistant

That is the expectation.

Perceptions and constructs influencing the utter absence of

The necessary quality of existence.

I am not a person

In the conventional definition of the word.

Those emotions, that complete uncertainty with relationships

?

A masquerade, a deception so thorough

That, occasionally, sleep-deprived or

Unfortunately, providing that infinite,

Perpetual

Persistent

Merciless

Darkness

With a manner of communication,

I cannot recall where the prevarication concludes

And the barren, desolate, isolated reality of Kathleen Lisa Geben commences.

I am not experiencing angst_, _or

Whatever arbitrary term that has been

Selected to

Describe

A vapid imitation of this darkness

I am merely

Recording what I believe to be accurate

In a poetic format.

(Albeit a mildly incoherent poetic format.)

Titles have been assigned

To adequately expound upon this fragmentation

(Separation for the sake of simplicity, alliterative appeal included.)

But they do not

Disclose verity,

Or imbue this with

Justice.

If the darkness could explain its desires

I am cognizant that they involve

Murder

Suicide

Omnicide

(In various degrees)

And, of course, those _damn _continuous drums

If I were to compare it to anything recognizable, but imprecision communicates further:

(with reduction of interpersonal relationships or clarity of purpose)

(without the enduring humanity)

(appears to retain a peculiarly psychotic sophistication)

But these do not compare.

These are mirages, while the darkness is tangible

Existent.

To be aware that I contain

_This _

Whatever it may be classified as

Is irrelevant in respect to the fact that

As previously stated

I do not believe that

It can be incarcerated within the improbable

Interior

Of my mind.

Not when it could be interacting with the external universe

_Blood etched in archaic incantations over the contours of human flesh_

_Crimson_

_And that laughter, reverberating through the cosmos, _

_Irrespective of ramifications or_

_Potential disasters _

And how terribly, how _exquisitely _

It longs for that.

(And how I apologize

for our disparity and our

tenuous connection.)

* * *

I arrive at the table, exhausted beyond explicit, unambiguous comparison. This is necessary, crucial, but unendurable. The consequences will result in my salvation, my redemption, but there are unfortunate ramifications of this plan. The aforementioned plan that I can barely remain conscious to execute.

Cyardas is somewhere in the general vicinity, but I concentrate upon managing this.

"Hi, Mom, Dad, Vi."

A primitive salutation, without the linguistic embroidery that I would prefer, but tolerable.

I analyze the reactions of my biological relations to the uncharacteristically sociable statement from the morose, taciturn Kali.

"Hey, Kali," my father replies, as inappropriate in his immaturity as ever.

I contemplate an excoriating, insolent response. However, that could deter the familial relations. They were essential, if for their solitary capacity as instruments in my manipulations. They were to become my alibi, operating under the erroneous assumption that the government could deduce the perpetrator in its disarray.

Returning to the current dinner, I inquire,

"May I have the cheese pizza?"

Concealing reality. Redundant.

Amusing, however.

"Yeah, sure!"

Damn enthusiasm.

Conscious, Kali. Conscious. You cannot sacrifice your mental clarity, your preventative measures at the moment. You cannot devolve into these preposterous notions.

Contemporary collision, necessity. Ephemeral concepts in the enormity of the universe.

Maintain composure, damn it!

I suppose this requires initiation.

"Okay, everyone. So, you know how that guy involved in the political scandals died a month ago from a heart attack? There have been some unusual circumstances regarding the demises of people recently. Anyway, I was keeping a log of this, and I've noted some patterns with the deaths released to the media. Most of them are heart attacks, all have criminal records, and there appears to be a recurring pattern of the phrase "I am Kira" within the names. This could be confirmation bias, indeed, but upon inspection it exceeds the typical calculated probabilities for realistic inclinations and preference, which contributes to my conclusion that I am observing circumstances displaying verisimilitude to the events of Death Note."

Within the completion of my presumed hypothesis, I regard the superfluous sesquipedalian tendencies with disapproval. Betraying my intellectual capacities to additional fixtures upon my ornately formulated masterpiece is… Perilous. I can appreciate their endeavors to catapult me into academic success and acknowledge their presence, but beyond that, they are _bargaining items. _

Kira, you cannot intrude. Confounded Kira. Damn Kira.

Observe

this,

Kira.

I shall dismantle the corrupted fantasy of decimated populations.

I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them.

_Integrations and specifications..._

No.

Extracting myself from my internal engagements, and too emphasize my primary objective, I exhibit the Death Note, complete with the purported records.

My mother offers her opinion.

"And this doesn't have anything to do with school?"

"No, Mom."

"Are your grades good?"

With aggravation,

"Yes."

Underneath, though, is a confession. A confession to atrocities, to abhorrent actions, repressed under detached, slate-grey judgement, underneath fractured spatio-temporal anomalies.

Vi elevates a dubious eyebrow.

I have accomplished my intentions.

Excellent. Reverting to logic.

Dinner proceeds with frivolous conversation.

* * *

That night, I awaken to the unfamiliar sensation of pressure upon my forehead.

After assuming a defensive position, I realize Cyardas was imitating human attention.

The explanation, however, exacerbates the situation.

"You were screaming in your sleep, Katie."

Despite my detestation of the nickname and the subsequent, inevitable admonition of Cyardas, that disturbs my perpetual appearance of nonchalance. Subconscious mental anguish more potent than that which can be perceived consciously results in anxiety.

Death is the sole possibility.

"Ah. I implore of you, permit me to return," I respond sardonically.

As I collapse into uncomfortable unconsciousness once more, future secured with a Death Note, illumination, and an incandescent path etched onto the confinement of a universe from quantum entanglements to the universe's heat death, I reflect upon Cyardas's accuracy.

Was Kira an embodiment of the notebook itself, conjured and enhanced in my psyche? Or an embodiment of justice? Kira's behavior was not compatible with Multiple Personality Disorder or the modernized Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Perhaps, perhaps not.

I was desperate for eight hours of tranquility.

Silence.

A respite from the incessant cacophony of katanas. From an atmosphere both phenomenal in its distinction from hell an its redolence of it. Evocative of nothing but

hell.

I succumb to oblivion, but I do

not

fall.


	18. Depression

**Kira's Soundtrack: Nero- Two Steps From Hell**

**Kali's Soundtrack: Starvation- Thomas Bergersen**

**Combined Soundtrack: Animal I Have Become- Three Days Grace**

* * *

**Contains profanity. **

* * *

Kali.

Kira.

Kali.

Kira.

Kali.

Kira.

The distinction is brilliant, refracted light and splintered lines.

Perhaps not.

Sibilant whispers and paranoia, calcium ion exchanges and souls and what dreams are made of.

And the uncertainty. The redundant, incessant exophora that should not exist, because exophora is defined as commentary upon a contemporaneous situation. How can this be repetitive? In defiance of logic itself, he is.

Violating sanity and rationality, the profound expanses of an arbitrary wasteland that was tantamount to a sanctuary. Or salvation. Or perdition. Once, I was a human. Two months past, I was a manipulative figure, an adolescent enigma, a creature four therapists and superfluous quantities of acquaintances were incapable of deciphering, dissecting. I was academically competent, cerebral, yet engaged in external activities for my amusement. On occasion, I exploited others, not a compulsion of psychological imperative, but obligation. Or scientific inquiry.

Intrusion on thoughts in a multitude of chaotic, disparate images, connected only with an expansive, impossibly colossal sensation of impending destruction, accompanied by murderous inclinations and incremental progression, peripheral yet infinite geometries and syllables not copacetic with reality.

Shattering and fragmentation, light percolating through every damn inch. Pervading and permeating and saturating with a scintillating darkness.

Light.

Light.

Light.

Light.

Initially, I severed my perceptions from the ubiquitous light, my affiliations.

Kira and the Death Note.

Promulgations, declarations, rumination, cogitation, illumination, and a pretentious affect.

Naïve.

Here we are,

and

I am

A mathematical error on the behalf of the universe.

Existential philosophy.

Philosophy and erudition, but they're devoid of emotion. And sentiment. And malice. And benevolence. And anything that could humanize an abysmal excuse for a human. A logical contradiction.

I was supercilious and oblivious. Sentient yet imperceptive.

This is my compensation, while that placidly orbiting sphere is Kira's.

Kira,

The planet shall burn, because

I'm going to take this hellish notebook that we obtained and jump into the damn fire with it, because you couldn't, because I'm human enough to do just that, I'm going to watch as the planet burns and laugh because I'm burning with it, because in its incineration I prevented its demise yet instigated it, but I will perish in the fire too, not because I should be claimed by the denizens of hell and darkness, but because I deserve it, because I'm as damn human as you will never be.

Adequate summary: Tautological, yet unrestrained. A spontaneous combustion of an obdurate personality, a residual echo.

Afterimages.

Effective, control, precision, clarity- mere verbiage. Definition not requisite.

Kira, you may have devastated my mind, decimated my existence, but a potential, improbable solution you never conceived of will be your ruination.

You bastard.


End file.
